Fade To Black
by Chord
Summary: She doesn't like color: too bright, it blinds. too many. unpredictable. wrong. Let the world fade to black. ( a Trinity fic. )
1. Prologue

**Author's Notes: **This fanfic's narration will follow third person. It is only in the prologue that first person is used.   
  
**Summary: **She doesn't like color: too bright, it blinds. too many. unpredictable. wrong. Let the world fade to black. ( a Trinity fic. )  
  
**Many thanks to: **Kat for the name and Centaur for convincing me that the name could actually work. Warmwarm, affectionate gratitude to you both!   
**  
Disclaimer: **Julian is mine.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
**  
**  
  
**  
Fade to Black**  
Prologue  
  
  
  
* ~ *  
  
  
  
I don't like it when you stay up late _he says. Pale yellow light from the hallway floods my room as he steps inside. Momentarily, everything is far too bright to be real.  
  
_You didn't knock _is my reply._ _I listen to the gentle ticking of my wall clock. The small, wooden soldier who lives inside rang his tiny silver bell twelve times, not so long ago. It is hard to keep from demanding why he is out of bed at this hour but I manage.  
_  
The door was open. _Gently, he pulls it shut then comes over to sit down on my bed, next to where I lay staring up at the ceiling. After a few seconds, he breaks the silence and speaks to me in the dark.  
  
_You don't sleep very much anymore. _His words are dry, like sand shifting to please a harsh desert wind.  
_  
I don't need to. _Harsh._  
  
I know. It's just that you spend too many nights alone, being the only one awake while everyone else is asleep. _I can almost see the disapproving frown he has on his face right now as he waits for me to respond. No more than a child's pout. I close my eyes against the unseen sight, but it doesn't disappear.  
  
  
  
There he is, beside me, seated with his legs crossed. Tousled brown hair in a long, boyish cut frame a trusting face. A weak chin and the tilt to his head make visible innocence that is otherwise hidden by eyes which are a paler shade of blue than mine are. It's as if the color was all but washed away completely, almost glasslike in appearance. The similarity, however, is striking.  
  
They tell lies, our eyes do.   
  
(_ He has his sister's eyes.  
Yes. Yes he does.  
It's a pity that neither one inherited your brown ones, Marie. Their father's gaze, both are.  
They share the gaze, not the father.  
Do you mean to say--  
--her father adopted the boy not a year before he passed away.  
Then he.. He isn't...  
  
I'm sorry.  
Don't be. It was a long time ago. )  
  
_His name is Julian. He has an old shirt of mine on, one that he insists is his favorite sleep wear, despite its age. Strange, that it is the girl who outgrows a boy's shirt for a boy to wear when she is through with it.  
  
  
  
_It disturbs me _he adds, as if determined to coax a response out of me. _Doesn't it bother you at all?   
  
_My eyes fly open._  
  
What does?  
  
Being alone.  
  
_Oh.   
  
_When I am alone, things are simple _I tell him. There is only me, after all. There is only one person to look out for and only one person's thoughts to think about. There always seems to be enough time or space for anything and everything, and although this may not be as true as I'd want it to be, no one else is around to tell me it isn't. _I like it when things are simple.  
  
_I can tell that he is not pleased with what I've just said. Too vague for a boy who wants answers in detail.   
  
I reach under my pillow and pull out a small, thin notebook. I switch on my bedside lamp before turning to face him, with a sigh for his persistence and an unvoiced explanation hidden in pages of lined paper.   
  
_I wrote something for you _I say, handing the notebook over. He takes it with steady hands and a curious gleam in his eyes. _It isn't done yet, but you may look at what I have so far.  
  
_He opens the notebook to the first page and reads quietly, squinting at my minuscule handwriting (letters in script, meant only for a chosen few to decipher). I watch his face, made paler by the weak, unsteady flickering of the lamp, for a reaction.  
  
  
  
_  
  
water that flows through my fingers, i grasp.  
there, but not quite, you Are  
as air in my lungs: a part of me,  
a ghost of familiarity,  
an anonymous existence.  
  
the words in ink Are,  
smudged but not faded,  
and you remain an unremembered non-memory.  
  
( answer:dismissal  
like I Don't Knows,  
or uncertainty  
like I'm Not Sure's.  
question: will it always be this way? )  
  
a name i cannot form  
with lips, dry and chapped.  
bleeding through cracks,  
thin.  
  
i'll wait on the wide stage,  
outside the green curtain,  
in dark blue shadows  
beneath red-tinted spotlights   
that dance to silent music.  
  
exposed and vulnerable.  
  
wait for you to kiss the wounds away.  
  
  
  
  
  
_He finishes reading and glances up at me. I watch the earlier curiosity melt into a soft, lingering grin of unidentifiable affection. Looking away is easier.  
  
_Did you write this on your own? _he inquires. He returns the notebook and I tuck it back under my pillow.   
  
_Yes. _My eyes narrow slightly but my voice remains level. Indifferent. Yes - I - wrote - that - shit - so - shoot - me indifferent.  
  
_You wrote it for me. _It isn't a question this time but I answer anyway.  
  
_Yes. _I meet his gaze firmly and admire his ability to convey gratitude while maintaining a nonchalant facade. Impressive for a seven year old, or I'm just too observant.  
  
_It isn't about me, though. For, but not about. _I drown in his thoughtfulness and come to an impulsive decision. Motioning at him with one hand to lay down next to me, I switch off the light with the other.  
  
_I showed you what I do late at night, when I can't sleep. I think a lot. Sometimes, I write down what I think. You don't need to worry, a _pause, then uneasily, _about me.   
  
Who were you thinking about -- _Thinking. Hah. Smart kid. _--when you wrote that poem?  
  
_Does it matter? _I don't know. _No it doesn't. _Go to sleep.  
  
All right... and.. and Trin?  
  
_It's too late to tell him off for using my nickname. _Mhhmm..?  
  
It's beautiful. Thanks.  
  
_One. Two. Three. Four -- I count to ten matching my numbers to his steady breathing, weaving the gentle rhythm into a blanket of serenity. He has his back turned to me as he falls asleep on his side. It's amusing enough that he can jump from concerned, to irritatingly inquisitive to content so easily and still manage to wake up the next morning with a smile on his face.  
  
Restless, he turns over one more time and one hand reaches up to rest between us, limp on the bed sheet. I take hold of those tiny fingers and settle down to await morning's arrival.  
  
_You're welcome _arrives a little too late for a response, but we don't mind. It's almost as if he can hear me in his sleep.  
  
I relax among the two pillows and Julian's tranquil, sleeping form. My ears catch the clock's ticking again, and before long, the soldier makes another appearance through the bright red doors, ringing his bell once before disappearing again. I find myself wondering why the soldier uses a bell.   
  
They must have run out of guns, where he comes from.   
  
  
_  
* ~ *  
  



	2. Chapter 1

**  
Author's notes: **Basically, this fanfic is my fling at explaining why Trinity is the way she is. i.e. her pre-unplugging days leading up to the first movie. Since that woman ( beautiful, strong and intelligent though she may be ) is also one of the most complicated characters on the surface of this flat earth, things in my fic can go terribly terribly wrong for so many different reasons. Chord humbly asks that you, her beloved readers, keep her from getting too lost.  
  
**Feedback: **Constructive criticism = more than welcome; if flames are necessary, then do so by all means, as long as they make sense, ne?  
  
**Disclaimer: **I own Julian and the shower curtain.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Fade To Black  
**Chapter One  
  
  
  
* ~ *  
  
  
  
_The dark sky is lit up momentarily by brief flashes of blinding, white light. Peals of thunder drown out the usual neighborhood din of honking car horns and Mrs. Next-door's screams ( at her daughter? her husband? it doesn't matter, smother them all ). The wind mourns over the absence of sunlight with a low, resounding wail of loss.  
  
Droplets of rainwater are pinpricks on the skin; sharp, biting sensations. Drenched clothes, heavy shoes and soggy socks carve vivid details in the mind: memories to relive on days of stifling heat and cool lemonade.  
  
The front door opens and an umbrella with red and white stripes emerges, backlit by bright, yellow light. Beneath it, a man's face smiling, _What do you think you're doing out there, little girl?   
  
_It's raining daddy! Can I stay out for a bit? Please?  
  
_Not a chance. Come inside, your mother's worried and so is Julian.   
  
_( what about you, daddy? aren't you worried too? )   
  
A mad dash up the driveway, splashing in puddles that trickle into streams, before spilling out onto the street. Wet rubber soles on slippery pavement don't make for an easy run. Two steps and a stumble land a pair of feet on the doormat, soaking the letters that spell out in shades of deep red.  
  
Step inside, wet, as a light pitter-patter of slippers approach quickly. A little four year old boy rounds the corner, hair tousled, blue eyes wide, a soft thick towel clutched in two small hands, dry, _Trin! I got'cha a... I got'cha this outta the cabinet an' I did it all by myself!   
  
_He holds out the article and beams as it is received gratefully, taking pride in his achievement. The man rewards the child by lifting him off the ground and spinning him around, _not two months in this house and the boy knows enough to take care of his sister! Way to go, kiddo!   
  
_Three pairs of lips part, releasing laughter, carefree but cut short by a woman's voice, edged with concern, _You're both soaking wet! Go and change this instant, before you catch something.  
  
_Giggles back and forth and the man calls, _You heard your mother. Scoot.   
  
_What about you, daddy? ( mommy was talking to you, too. )  
  
_I'm a grownup and grownups don't get sick.  
  
_( mommy said you might, you could, you would. is mommy lying, daddy? are you? )  
  
The little boy interrupts, _Trin's big too! She's seven years old! _holding up two hands, six fingers.  
  
_No arguments from anyone for I won't hear them! _and that is that. Up the stairs to change, and back down again, Jack - be - nimble - while - you - hop - over - a - candle quick.  
  
Daddy's still in his wet clothes and mommy is angry; both are on the couch with Julian squeezed in between. He stares at the fireplace, captivated by the dancing flames and curling orange tongues, oblivious to the whispered arguments _( I just don't want you to get sick! Is that so difficult to understand? ) _flying back and forth in the air above his head.  
  
( Look up, Julian. Look up and catch those frosty words, cradle them in your palms and warm them with your fingers. )  
  
The boy glances up but in the wrong direction, catches sight of the wrong person, and the request vanishes into thin air as he yells, _Sit next to me! Sit next to me, Trin!   
  
_Mugs of hot chocolate are passed around. Take a sip, savor the sweetness, a taste not so easily forgotten --   
  
  
  
_-- when I say it, but when anyone else does, you frown.  
  
Startled out of her reverie, Kat's eyes flew open. Rivulets of water ran down her face and she wiped them away with one hand to clear her vision of Julian's silhouette on the shower curtain, surrounded by pale yellow ducks with big, sad eyes. A boy's shadow among melancholic birds swimming around a pasty white sheet looked odd.  
  
Her question bounced off the bathroom walls. It was nice of Julian to agree to keep her company while she showered, but carrying on a trite conversation had not been what she'd had in mind.  
  
Your nickname, the one I gave you. _Trin_.I've noticed that when I use it, you don't mind very much but when anyone else does, you frown, was repeated patiently.   
  
Aren't you observant, Kat responded as she rinsed herself out under the shower's steady downpour.   
  
It was a game she played with Julian. He asked questions, and she answered them in short, clipped fragments that dared him to extend their chat further. Sometimes he managed to coax a bit more enthusiasm out of her; other times, he was the one who lost interest.  
  
This time however, he caught her with an unexpected move.  
  
Do you miss rain? was an abrupt jump from one topic to the next and it put Kat on her guard instantly.   
  
Julian's questions were never random, never plucked right out of the blue, and the reasons behind them were usually heavier than most people would give him credit for. Wondering if her brother could read minds, Kat chose not to answer and rinsed off the last of the soap suds without a word.  
  
I think you do, he prattled on in his usual bright manner, that's probably why you take such long showers. You better watch out, or you'll turn into a prune if you stay under there too long.   
  
Again he was ignored, but this time he waited out Kat's silence by drawing invisible pictures on the bathroom's tiled walls with the tip of his finger. The only sound to be heard was a water's serenade of _drip drip drip _but it hardly compensated for the lack of a voiced response. Soon enough, an awkward sort of ambience settled in, thick as smoke and just as difficult to breathe in.   
  
  
*  
  
  
**_I think you do...  
  
_**_... but you've somehow managed to convince yourself that you don't.   
  
Never one to yearn for the Long Gone, the Done And Over With So Let's Move On bullshit you're convinced no longer matters. Never one to sit down and call back memories, because you're far too sensible a person to waste time dwelling in the past when there's so much work to be done in the present. Or are you?  
  
**I think you do.  
  
**The truth in those words is a ringing in your ears, deafening in volume and clamoring to be heard. Half-truths, shards - of - broken - glass truths that cut your skin until you you bleed, the essence of it seeping into the wounds, flowing through your veins until it becomes a part who you are, until it consumes you...  
  
... with what? Guilt?   
  
**I think you do...  
  
**... feel guilt. Guilt in the knowledge that you miss your past reluctantly and would prefer to forget it all together. Why, though, when you know you long for it?  
  
The ambivalence is frustrating.  
  
Reluctantly missing what you'd rather forget yet long for all the same is dangerous. It speaks of vulnerability in the kind of whisper that haunts rooftop ledges and ridges of cliffs. A battle of conflicting emotions -- recall forget recall forget recall forget -- tears at your insides.  
  
Admit it. Give in. Succumb.  
  
There's something in a rain shower that you miss, something about it that dances just out of reach, doing a neat little jig on the tip of your tongue as you struggle to spit it out. Something about the danger and risk-taking involved in thunderstorms, something in the way rain pounds, steady and unchanging, on the window pane that you relish, something **right **about defying nature.  
  
Or does it even have anything to do with defying nature? Why not defiance itself? Do you know?...  
  
... **I think you do.  
  
  
*  
  
  
**_****Julian's frighteningly accurate guess irritated Kat. It meant that he could read her somewhat and the realization that she was possibly as semitransparent as a shower curtain with yellow ducks was disturbing.  
  
  
  
It was just a thought. You used to stay out in the rain all the time, back when --  
  
-- I could afford to get sick, cause we had money to buy medicine and food on the table.  
  
Julian shut up after a murmur of apology, instantly causing Kat to regret her hasty words. They held too much bitterness in them, and Julian did not deserve the role of victim to her temper. It was uncalled for.  
  
With one hand, she reached out to switch off the shower. Julian, still subdued, was obviously waiting for her to make the first move. She stood dripping wordlessly for a few more moments before she spoke to him again, this time taking care to be more gentle.  
  
You will refrain from comparing me to a grapefruit, she informed him. The awkwardness was lifted.  
  
Hand me my towel, was meant as a joke, but he complied.  
  
Yes ma'am.  
  
  
  
* ~ *  
  
_  
  
  
_


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: **Things start to go downhill from here, and the plot'll thicken after this bit. Excuse the angst, somehow I find it necessary, and if Kat's starting to go out - of - character in any way ( or already has ), please don't hesitate to send the sentinels after me.  
  
**Feedback: **I don't write for reviews but I love reading them. Drop me one, won't you? I'm asking nicely, aren't I? ^_^**  
  
Disclaimer: **I refuse to give Julian up. If I owned the Matrix, I'd refuse to give that up too.**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Fade To Black  
**Chapter Two  
  
  
  
* ~ *  
  
_I got nobody on my side  
And surely that ain't right  
And surely that ain't right  
  
_~ by Portishead  
  
* ~ *  
  
  
  
  
  
There was a window above the kitchen sink. Thin cracks sketched webs of silver across the pane and an evening breeze blew through its open shutters. Were it not for the lace curtains that hung from a rust-covered rod, it couldn't have been more than just a hole in the wall.  
  
Kat looked past the window to the street that lay just beyond their house's driveway. Dull pavement upon dull pavement was all she could see in the predawn glow, a barren road lined with equally empty houses. Early morning hours were always so quiet; there were never any cars with screeching tires and nobody in the neighbourhood owned a cat or a dog.  
  
  
  
She had woken up to the sight of a clock pasted on powder blue wallpaper and it read one thirty in blurred digits. Beads of sweat were on her forehead and she'd wiped them away with the sleeve of her night shirt. A blanket held her legs captive in chains of tangled sheets while one of her pillows lay on the floor. Had she kicked it off, in her sleep?  
  
She couldn't remember.  
  
She'd sat up then, leaning her back against the bed's headboard. Its smooth, varnished wood cooled her down as she waited for her head to stop spinning. Nightmares that sent her reeling in the aftermath had been plaguing her sleep for nights now, and they just kept coming. Frightening images of unidentifiable horror haunted her dreams and each time, without fail, she'd awoken with temporary bouts of amnesia.  
  
_Who am I? _  
  
_Bring your knees up to your chin, wrap your arms around your shoulders and will the dizzy spell away. Battles like these are only half won when you don't know what you're up against, but you won't have to fight alone forever.  
  
Where am I?  
  
Indigo shadows are as dark as darkness can get without fading entirely to black. It's a messy blend of walls, corners, ceilings and the faint shimmer of Julian's lava lamp splashing color on grids. You'd rather he picked the red one but he chose green and you didn't say anything.  
  
What am I?   
  
Your chest rises and falls under the thin fabric of your clothes. Listen to yourself breathe and realize there's something off in doing so. It feels as if the sound a human heart makes is meant for someone else's ears. Your pulse, mechanical in rhythm, beats to fill the silence and you know that isn't right.  
  
_Confusion had driven her out of bed. She had freed herself from the restraints of the blanket and by the time she was on her feet, she'd remembered the dishes needed to be washed before her mother got back from the late shift. Frustrated that her mind would mercilessly throw reminders of unaccomplished chores at her right after waking up in a cold sweat, she'd walked out of her bedroom, raging silently at her person.   
  
Where was the comfort? The reassurance? The hand to lay her head back down on a pillow and the whisper of _it was just a dream, you're okay now _? Not where she was, that's for sure, because Life hated people who were far too rational for their own good.  
_  
You had a nightmare. Congratulations. Now go scrub forks and make something out of yourself.  
_  
In the corridor, Kat had paused for a second to try and prove to the hallway that she wasn't as insufferably reasonable as her mind made her out to be. The best she could come up with was blaming her insomnia on the Sandman.  
_  
Some people should learn to do their jobs, regardless of whether or not they exist.  
  
_Shit.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Couldn't sleep...?  
  
Kat compared the auditory difference between footfall on linoleum and the gush of tap water flowing steadily from a faucet. It was hard to believe the latter was loud enough to swallow up the sound made by Julian's approach; she didn't hear him arrive.  
  
I was just finishing up here. Each word was carefully considered because Julian, sharp as anything, had the uncanny ability to pick up on the slightest of hints, whether or not they were dropped intentionally. Unwilling to let him in on her little secret, Kat had to maintain casualty to ward off suspicion. That meant adopting a deadpan tone.  
  
I can dry, Julian offered tentatively but it was turned down.  
  
This is the last one. She passed a rag over the plate's gleaming surface. When it was dry to her satisfaction, she stacked it away with all the others before turning to face her brother.   
  
You're not supposed to be awake at this hour, Kat said, trying not to wince at how inappropriate that sounded, coming from her. They both pulled up chairs and took seats across from one another at the dining table.   
  
Neither are you, but we're both here. Call it fate, Julian replied good-naturedly and when he didn't get a response from Kat, he added, this is when you participate half-heartedly in the conversation.  
  
I don't believe in fate. Too many things at stake, to leave everything up to chance.  
  
Destiny, Katrina, not chance. They're two separate things--  
  
--and neither are subjects I'd choose to waste time and thought on. If you're going to force a conversation on me, at least make it worth both our efforts.   
  
After that last remark, Julian fell quiet for a second. He studied her face intently with a glint of something behind the smile he wore. His gaze drew clues from the flaws in her mask of impassivity while she read off the constant drum of his fingers on the table top.   
  
You give a topic, then, he said finally.   
  
We don't need to talk about anything.   
  
We have nothing else to do so we might as well talk about something.  
  
I don't want to.  
  
So there _is _some thing, whether you want to talk about_ it _or not.  
  
Kat didn't dare frown.  
  
  
*  
  
  
_Somebody's voice calling from not long ago, but not long ago is eternity if you count down the seconds in a place where time does not exist.  
  
_who are you, little girl?  
  
_Flashes, one after another after the other after some other, blinding the child who keeps her eyes shut. Perpetual fear in a dream too real to wake up from; the wind blows, the cradle rocks, the bough breaks, no one catches her and the child is falling still.  
_  
who were you, little girl?  
  
_She lies on the bed and tucks both hands under her pillow as she reclines among blankets. The boy sitting next to her has a book on his lap, open to a creased page in shades of wan yellow.   
  
He tells of bottomless holes, playing cards and white roses painted red but the child pays no attention; she watches the boy instead. He reads words off the book but unknowingly, another tale unravels from the thread of his mere presence. His hands paint a picture for his narration with thin air as canvas and his mouth describes various characters but the child's ears remain deaf to his descriptions. She listens to a different story wherein the hero owns the boy's name and that name, the child's heart.   
  
The boy then hums a tuneless lullaby and sings her to sleep.  
  
_who will you be, little girl?  
  
_She grows up too fast, for the sake of someone else's childhood. The child runs a race she has already lost and she isn't even headed in the direction of the finish line. She leaves a trail of dust behind for the rest of the world to choke on as her boots kick up walls of grit. She runs without thinking and doesn't think to stop and if nobody catches her, she'll keep running for the rest of eternity.  
  
But eternity isn't so long a time if you count down the seconds in a place where time does not exist.  
  
The child trades her ballet shoes in for a pair of skates and the boy whispers _take care. _She treads on thin ice and cuts cold figures on the surface of a looking glass. The blades on her feet are sharp and he watches her with more than just concern; he has reasons to worry. A mirror broken is a reflection distorted and irreplaceable pieces are memories lost.  
  
The child might forget who she is.  
  
The boy whispers _take care _but she doesn't hear it. It isn't that she doesn't want to. She just doesn't know how_.  
_  
  
*  
  
_  
Julian and Kat exchanged even stares. Their wills clashed in the open space between eyes that looked as alike as their owners were different. Reaching out, holding back and the refusal to give in to the other's wishes brewed a gale that whipped at the fragile stalemate.  
  
However, before either one could say anything, the sound of heavy rubber pressing down on gravel could be heard rolling up their driveway. Through the open window, a car's headlights poured into the kitchen, a fountain of strong, yellow beams.  
  
Mom's here! were the two words Julian released before he was out of his chair and gone in an instant.  
  
Kat remained seated, unmoved by the arrival that caused Julian's departure. She listened to the front door open and shut, the engine's rumbling cease, the scramble of hurried footsteps and the climatic outburst of warm welcoming. The lights died down to give way to darkness and Kat shut her eyes, wishing Julian's warm voice could be put out just as easily.  
  
Her turn was over.  
  
Julian had woken up at an insane hour, kept her company willingly, listened to what she'd refused to say and understood every unspoken word. He had been the brother he was supposed to be but Kat's time was up; it felt like the nursery rhyme Hickory Dickory Dock ended before the mouse could run back down the clock.   
  
Kat could not blame the boy for being both the loving brother that sat with his sister on vigils of solitude _and_ the dedicated son who made sure their mother had a family to return to after a long day's work. The fact that he could never be both at the same time was something she'd have to live with, and she couldn't blame him for it.  
  
She could only blame herself for hating what was and had to be. Posession meant weakness and she did not want to be weak, but the emotion was hers, as was the fault.   
  
They were coming up the porch now, and mother was laughing at Julian's jokes. Kat kept her eyes closed; it would not do to have both woman and boy see a rare droplet of silver mark her cheek with a wet scar. It would not do to have both woman and boy mistake anger for sadness. It would not do to worry the woman and break the boy's heart.   
  
Kat! Kat, come look! Mother's brought a computer home!   
  
By the time Julian reappeared, struggling with a heavy box, Kat's eyes were as dry as the plates he had offered to help her with an hour ago.   
  
  
  
_An hour doesn't exist when the child spends her time crying and the tears just won't fall.  
  
  
_  
* ~ *  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 3

**  
Author's Notes: **Kat's history ended up longer than I'd originally thought it would. I couldn't fit everything I'd intended for chapter three into one chapter so I've decided to cut it in half and make the necessary adjustments. If you all end up flabbergasted because of the ending, please refrain from prodding me to death with pitchforks ( or any kind of forks, for that matter. they're pointy and they hurt. =P ), atleast until you've read chapter four. Other than that, flames / reviews / constructive criticism are more than welcome!   
  
**Spoiler alert: **A really tiny one, but I thought I'd mention it anyway, to be extra careful.  
  
**Many Thanks to: **Jenn for contributing sunshine and apple pie. * big huuug *  
  
**Disclaimer: **I own only two characters in this fic. You've already met Julian, and kudos to anyone who can figure out where Charles Roy got his name. * grins enigmatically *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Fade To Black  
**Chapter Three  
  
  
  
* ~ *  
  
  
  
Kat lifted her chin. She turned her eyes heavenward to a spot just above the neighborhood roofs. The sky was tailored a deep midnight blue to match the late hour and there weren't any stars. There weren't any clouds, either. The moon, a pale orb of cracked silver, hung listless in its solitude.  
  
Sprawled all over an unkept lawn across the street, soft tufts of bermuda grass rustled softly in time to the blowing wind ( restless ). The corner lamp post flickered non-stop in undecided spurts ( quietly disturbing ) while farther off in the direction of the city, headlights of cars winked blatantly from the freeway ( satisfyingly insignificant ). There was a term for all these little details swimming before her eyes, like tadpoles in a pond; tiny, but noticeable in their constant, wriggling movements and far too real to be denied of existence.  
  
Kat settled down on the sidewalk, just outside her house and stretched her legs out infront of her, limbs on the road, sneakers on hardened tar, knapsack by her side. She leaned back and winced as her elbows scraped lightly against rough concrete.  
  
_Wrong, _she thought. The word she was looking for was wrong', and the feel of it was unnerving. Kat sighed and wished for a distraction, despite the lack of morning stars to wish on.  
  
She'd discovered some time ago that a distraction was somewhat the next best thing, when all you really wanted to do was forget.  
  
  
*  
  
  
_Charles Roy has been known to spend half the day behind shut eyelids, presumably asleep. Doctors puzzle over how a little girl, a non-relative no less, can time her visits to match his waking hours with such surprising accuracy. It is uncanny. The minute she steps into his room, Charles brightens visibly and is always very much awake, each time.  
  
Today is no exception. _  
  
hello, it's me again. how are you? still sick, of course, or you wouldn't be here. silliness.  
  
_Kat walks over to his bed and takes a seat on the springy mattress. A mop of messy, grey hair tops a wrinkled forehead while the rest of his face is creased in age, with lines softened by mirth. His gaze is as intelligent as it is sightless and between pursed lips, he hums a few mellow notes to himself.  
  
_that song again... you love it so much. without lyrics, or direction, abstract and everywhere all at once, its melody is tuneless. but it makes you smile. i make you smile. i'm the song, aren't i? what a funny thought.  
  
_Kat? Kat, is that you? I thought I heard you come in, he begins, glad as always to have you here, my snow princess, but do shed that frosty look.  
  
_what look? the one you can't see? and am i really that cold? _Kat wants to add, not a princess, though, and definitely not yours,' but refrains from doing so. It isn't polite to contradict elders.  
  
You can be quite cold, I've heard. The nurse told me about the incident in the corridor yesterday. It involved yourself, a kindly old lady and a bag of candy. The story kept me busy... I should say entertained, while she-- Charles pauses briefly to cough hard into one fist.  
  
_coughing again? poor charles, so sick. you sound dry, like... autumn leaves. golden autumn leaves, and red ones, and orange ones, and yellow ones...  
  
_How about the murky brown ones?  
  
_let's stick to the leaves with nice colours... oh, but they crackle when crushed under rubber boots. you cough like they crackle, charles.  
  
_Why, thank you.  
  
_about the story, now. it distracted you while she--  
  
_--stuck a needle into my arm and stole my blood. The cough turns into a coarse, hacking sort of laugh but Kat remains grave and unamused.  
  
_not leaves anymore, charles, branches. boughs of trees, cut in half by a noisy chain saw. i like you better when you cough. it sounds nicer, like fall.  
  
_  
  
_the season.  
  
_You have a lovely imagination.  
  
The corners of her mouth begin to twitch in the faintest hint of a frown, prompting a toothy grin from Charles. Kat is impatient. He presses on, Anyway, you were offered some candy but you didn't take it. You just looked at the woman quietly, without saying a word, until she left.  
  
_candy... an entire bag, and she was giving it away. they could have been sweet, could've been sour, but from the hand of a...  
  
_Grandmother? What exactly is it that you have against old people like myself?  
  
_...stranger. that's what she was, so i didn't take the candy. also, staying quiet seemed like the smart thing to do.  
  
_Oh, you certainly weren't _dumb_ about it. Quite the contrary, m'dear, but then being _smart _doesn't always mean being _right. _Tell me, why don't you accept candy from strangers? Charles inquires.  
  
_because mommy said so. _The words tumble out of her mouth without hesitation. Instant and automatic, they fall flat like a bad joke told at the wrong time. The tone in her voice is akin to monotony, while the line itself sounds as if it has been drilled into her head more than once; a philosophy forced upon her mind countless times only to be rebelled against, naturally. Kat is aware, they both are, that she had a different reason for turning down the candy, but she says nothing.  
  
You always listen to what your mother tells you?  
  
( you make this complicated, charles. you give me choices, you make me think. i could say no', go with the truth and be bad in your eyes... but i could say yes' and tell you what you want to hear, lie but make you happy... keep you happy... there, that's the important thing. )  
  
_yes.  
  
_( smile for my lie, charles. )  
  
Your mother also said not to come here, didn't she? She doesn't approve of, well... this, Charles puts emphasis on the last word. He then gestures at everything around them, from the bedside table on which a bowl of chicken soup gone cold remains untouched, to a corner where assorted bouquets lie forgotten. All dried petals, fallen leaves, cards of scripted well-wishing and insincerity ( get well soon! we miss you because we have to! signed, The Obliged ) in red ink. His hand seems to linger for a moment, his entire expression clouding over, as he gazes blindly at the flowers. But before Kat can comment on it, Charles ends the sweeping motion, making it clear that Kat's presence in his room will not please her mother._  
  
_... and yet, here you are, he adds, exposing her lie.  
  
Charles waits patiently to see how she will respond. Rarely is the truth shoved straight into the face of an eleven-year old, raw and without any of the gentle mollycoddle nonsense most people insist on coating it with. He does not treat Kat like a child. Something in the way she remains upright and unaffected by his words suggests to him that she isn't one, and hasn't been for some time now. Her voice, strangely sedate, harbours neither guilt nor shame for her dishonesty.  
  
Impressive.  
  
_mommy doesn't like it when i come to see you.  
  
_ he states calmly, she does not.  
  
_she told you? did she come here and tell you to send me back to... _Kat seems to reconsider her words and ends with, _...so you knew... _instead.  
  
Not at all. Or atleast, not until you confirmed it. I didn't _know, _I _felt_. Taking a chance on that feeling, intuition' it's called, I guessed.  
  
_you stupid man.  
  
_But obviously, from the way you're reacting, you knew all along. Your mother must not be very happy with your... tendency to disobey her, Charles observes as he leans back against thin pillows.  
  
_you stupidstupidstupid man. what do you know about happiness? nothing!  
  
_Sitting very still does little to help Kat's growing agitation. Her legs don't quite reach the floor, so she swings them back and forth, the momentum causing one of her loosely-fitted sandals to slip off her foot. It falls to the ground with an audible clack' but she does not apologize for the sound. She doesn't have to, so she won't._  
  
you go out of your way to ruin things! you make yourself miserable!  
  
_I'm not the one throwing a fit. Kat gets off the bed, walks to the window and opens it, letting in the frigid air.  
  
_this is what you're like, charles. the wind. hard and fast and freezing and furious and biting cold. i hate it. you know so many things but you keep them all to yourself... why? it's all a game to you.  
  
_Learn to play along, then. It's as simple as that.  
  
_no it isn't.  
  
_You're a natural. I can tell. You'll learn to play along in time, trust me...  
  
_i won't.  
  
_... you don't have a choice.  
  
_you weren't this way last week.  
  
_I wasn't? Kat doesn't turn around, what makes you say that?  
  
_we were here to see daddy, the three of us. mommy carried julian and i was walking next to her... quickly... so quickly, because mommy was in a hurry. quick, quick, quick, left foot, right foot, trip, get scolded, keep walking... and we passed your door.  
  
_I remember, and this time, Kat glances over her shoulder at him, but please. Go on.  
  
_it was open. you were inside, lying on a narrow bed, smiling. you showed so much teeth, sparkling and white... and i couldn't see how sick people could be so... friendly. how unlike daddy of you. he doesn't smile anymore. you still do, but you don't mean it.  
  
_Maybe I never did.  
  
Kat nods exactly once. She wants to keep right on talking, she wants to keep explaining things and pointing out reasons, she wants to justify her actions and defend all that she is. She wants to feel as if she has the entire world hidden away, contained under her skin like Charles with his secrets, and she can let it all out if she so chooses.  
  
She does.  
  
_daddy was in the first room, on the first floor. when we arrived, he saw us and i could tell he thought everything was going to turn out fine, now that we were there. i thought so too, until i saw something else... a pill. a bright, blue pill, like a jellybean but bitter, on his lunch tray... his medicine.  
  
_He hadn't taken his medicine that afternoon, Charles says dreamily, fascinated by Kat's ability to relay such events in the deadened tone she'd used on him earlier, when she'd lied. She conceals all the sadness he knows is in there somewhere, sadness that no child should be made to experience.  
  
_when mommy found out... she got mad. angry, like a storm, but angrier. fiercer. to keep her from loosing her temper, i leaned over to kiss daddy on the cheek, hoping she would do the same. he was hot, like a boiling kettle... the fever was burning him...  
  
_And I bet kissing your father didn't keep your mother from telling him off.  
  
_i could have stopped her from shouting. i could have pushed mommy away from daddy's bed, and daddy would have calmed down on his own.  
  
_Then why didn't you?  
  
_because of julian.  
  
_Your brother? He's five years old, how could he have anything to do with anything?  
  
_someone had to take care of him. mommy was too busy being angry, she didn't notice that julian was crying. he was crying because of a stupid, blue pill. his tears were... _Kat trails off.  
  
Julian had cried, she remembers, and his tears had been like crystals, but colder than ice. She remembers thinking they didn't suit the little boy as she took him from their mother, settling him gently into her shaky arms, determined not to drop him despite the uncertainty of her embrace. She remembers holding him close, then closer still because he was shivering. Kat remembers wanting to warm her brother, remembers whispering...  
  
_this isn't real, julian, this isn't real. go to sleep and dream of warmth, of quilts and apple pie and sunshine. when you wake up, everything will be okay. _Kat doesn't look at Charles when she adds, _i promised him that everything would be okay.  
  
_And did your brother fall asleep?  
  
_he did. he's sleeping right now, in daddy's room. mommy insisted on visiting daddy again. she insists on visiting him everyday... that's how i met you. i was able to slip away last thursday, while mommy was having lunch, and i found your room.  
  
_You gave me an apple. You'd brought it for your father, but he didn't want it.  
  
_it would have been good for him, but he's stubborn... stubborn is all he's ever been, all i've ever known him to be. he digs himself a grave, he does... and do you know what else, charles?  
  
_  
  
_i won't end up like him. like you. weak, kept in hospitals, waiting for your bodies to fall dead so that people who don't even care about you can throw you into holes and bury you in the soil. i won't end up like that. i'll be strong.  
  
_I'm sure you will... you'll need to be. You'll need it for the Matrix. Do you know what that is?  
  
_no.  
  
_I'd only be putting your life in danger if I tell you now. It's what landed me on this bed in the first place... but don't worry. You'll find out soon enough. When you do, I want you to remember that the Matrix isn't real. Remember that. Kat watches Charles and doesn't reply; she thinks he has lost his mind.  
  
You should go to Julian, now. He might need you.  
  
Without another word, she leaves, forgetting to shut both the window and the door on her way out. The minute he can no longer hear her footsteps echoing down the hallway, Charles closes his eyes and falls asleep.   
  
He will not wake up.  
  
One hour later in room 101, Kat's father does the same thing. When the doctor informs his family of his death, Julian goes rigid where he stands. Marie falls to her knees, bends over, huddles in a shuddering heap on the floor and sobs uncontrollably. Kat picks her brother up and rocks him back and forth, mumbling soothing words as he buries his face in her neck, devoting all her attention to his fragile form.  
  
With their dark hair a vivid contrast to the hospital's whitewashed walls, the scene is an old-style photograph: black and white and tones of grey, glossed over with grief, creased in the edges and weathered by time. From the other side of the picture frame, Kat surveys it all; outside-looking in, hardening her heart and crowding her thoughts with images of Julian, rainfall and autumn leaves.  
  
She has learned that distraction is somewhat the next best thing, when all you really want to do is forget.  
  
  
*  
  
  
_What are you doing out here?  
  
Kat wasn't in the mood to play Dodge The Question with her brother. Not tonight. She swivelled in her seat and decided to break it to him, as quickly as she possibly could.  
  
Star gazing, she answered evenly. Kat sensed him freeze behind her and she knew he hadn't even bothered to check if the sky was clear. He didn't need to.  
  
As a rule, Kat's lies were never crafted with the intention of being found out. It was one of her games, one of the small holds she had over reality; the ability to manipulate truth. She was good at it, too. This lie, however, had been given away in such a glaring fashion that it unhinged Julian for just a second, long enough for him to realise that something was up.  
  
In a matter of quick, deliberate steps, he had crossed the driveway and was standing next to her. On an impulse, the toe of his foot moved up to nudge the flimsy pack Kat had propped up against her side. It fell to the ground easily. Julian paled.  
  
Those felt like clothes, he informed her. Kat averted her gaze.  
  
They should. They are.  
  
You're running away. Kat could detect nothing other than vacancy in his voice. He was refusing to believe her.  
  
I'm leaving for a month, at the most. I'll be back. She pitched her tone to a certain level of finality, in an attempt to counter Julian's denial. It worked. Kat took a deep breath and Julian drew in a ragged one.  
  
His voice began to crack with increasing panic, ...this has something to do with you walking home today, doesn't it? You got kicked off the bus... something must have happened, you wouldn't tell me why you got kicked off and now... it's this. It's this... it's this... goddammit! Does mom even know?  
  
Kat couldn't help herself; she smirked. Sarcasm was written all over her face, etched into the one-sided, upward curl of her lips, evident in the slight narrow of her eyes.  
  
Mom knows I'm leaving tonight, but she decided to work the late shift anyway. It was absurd.  
  
Fucking hell.  
  
Watch your mouth, Kat warned, all traces of sardonic humour gone in an instant.  
  
Like you do.   
  
At the sound of the third voice, Julian and Kat turned as one. A young man stood atleast three feet away down the street, dressed from head to toe in black. He looked as if he'd emerged from the shadows, with eyes glinting on a face that was distinctly Asian and subtly handsome. He walked up to them with practised ease.  
  
Kat stiffened and got up, positioning herself at a certain angle to Julian. The man ( he couldn't have been more than a few years older than her, probably around eighteen ) caught her move and a small grin found its way onto his otherwise guarded expression. Kat's attempt at putting herself protectively in between this intruder and her brother had not gone unnoticed.  
  
He seemed to approve of it.  
  
I'm here, as was promised... Trinity? That's the name you gave Niobe, isn't it?  
  
Kat answered him with a curt nod. Julian gaped openly.  
  
Are you Morpheus? she asked. When he held out his hand, Kat shook it. He had a strong, firm grip.  
  
You'll meet Morpheus later. I'm called Ghost.  
  
  
  
* ~ *  
  



End file.
